


Goodbye Stranger

by VerityR



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Nancy centric, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, lets call it the prologue to the epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 22:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerityR/pseuds/VerityR
Summary: The day before the move, Nancy tries not to think about the future. She ends up thinking too hard about everything. As usual.





	Goodbye Stranger

Tomorrow was the end. Nancy was trying not to think about it, instead focusing on the prosecco bubbles exploding on her palate. It’d been a going-away present from Mr. Melvald, Joyce told her— since the mall folded, business was good enough for him to afford it. And it was a going-away present, of sorts, that Joyce had poured glasses for Jonathan and Nancy instead of relegating them to the sparkling cider the kids were drinking. The cider was courtesy of Karen, of course, who had foisted it into Nancy’s arms, horrified that Mike had already left without a hostess gift. 

Of course, the boys had just finished packing up the kitchen when Nancy came over, the bottle awkwardly in hand. She’d been embarrassed, but Joyce had waved away her apologies with a smile and started ripping open a box with a scissor blade.

“Mom, use the boxcutter,” Jonathan had chided lightly. 

Joyce waved this away too, pulling out an armful of mugs. 

“She already cut herself on the old hacksaw,” Will had confided. 

“A  _ knick _ , not a cut, really, boys— ”

“You could’ve just thrown it away.”

“It just needs need to soak in some vinegar! Ish… ” Joyce’s words became muffled as she tore into the foil with her teeth. “A perf… perf’tly… good… tool!” Victorious, the foil hung from her teeth. Joyce spat it out. “Ha. Gotcha!”

Jonathan snorted, exasperation only halfway hiding the amusement glinting in his eyes. He tried to give Nancy a look, clearly seeking one of those moments of silent commiseration that had gotten them through the last half of junior year:  _ can you believe my mom? _

Nancy  _ could _ believe, actually. She knew Joyce, and she knew Joyce would hang onto that rusty saw by her skinless, bleeding fingertips if there was even a chance the thing could be restored to its former glory.

And Nancy knew Jonathan was the same way, loathe as he was to admit it.

It’d be easy to return the look, give a sly smile of solidarity. But, still… Nancy couldn’t help thinking about how you couldn’t give a meaningful look over the phone. 

So Nancy had leaned down, touched the scab on her ankle, and flirted with the idea of picking it. She let herself consider how satisfying it would be: her well-manicured nail sinking into the hem that separated the jagged flesh of the wound from the smooth expanse of her skin. The lightness in her chest when the blight was gone. The calm that only lasted as long as it took the wound to start bleeding again.

Thinking about it was almost as good as doing it. Nancy resisted.

When she dared to look at Jonathan, she was met with a studied blankness.

Not that she’d had any time to think about that. Because that was when Steve and Robin had bounded in, bringing noise and distraction and pizza and a new dynamic that Nancy still didn’t understand. 

And that’s where they were now: drinking prosecco out of McDonald’s novelty glasses, Janis Joplin growling through the hi-fi, sitting on dusty floorboards that were making Robin sneeze. The living room was strewn with seventeen years worth of flotsam and jetsam; today’s packing had accomplished little more than churning up objects of wonder the Byers’ had long forgotten.

Huddled in the corner, Will and Mike were playing some old war game with grim determination. From the careful letters printed on the side of the box, Nancy had gathered it had once been Jonathan’s, but it looked identical to the dusty cardboard boxes gathering dust in the Wheeler basement— before the all-consuming spectre of Dungeons and Dragons had descended, Mike had ruled over legions of tin soldiers with an iron fist. This game was a little more complicated than the ones Nancy could remember being roped into playing, complete a hexagonal map and all manner of teensy wooden blocks emblazoned with cryptic markings.

Lucas seemed deeply interested in the spectacle of it, explaining each boy’s move to Max with the reverence of a football commentator. Dustin was less engaged, yelling out praise or shittalk when the moment called for it, but mostly interested in downing pizza stacked three slices high. Steve, needless to say, looked on this display with pride. 

It was weird, Nancy realized, scrutinizing the scene in front of her, that Steve was paying more attention to a goofy fourteen-year-old than to the beautiful, leggy strawberry blonde beside him. Nancy had gathered the two of them worked together, before Hawkins went all Hawkins on all of them. Trauma bonded people, sure, but it wasn’t like Steve was still hanging out with Lucas’ kid sister. Or Max. Or Nancy herself, now that she thought about it. 

Because Steve Harrington did not have  _ girl _ friends who were not girlfriends. Except for, apparently, one undeniably cute but also undeniably  _ dorky _ girl who’s claim to fame at Hawkins High was landing the role of Eliza Doolittle as a freshman, traumatizing the former drama golden girl, Samantha McKee, and setting off a series of events that started with black lipstick and studded bracelets and culminated in Sam dropping out to attend the “alternative school” where they sent druggies and pregnant girls. 

So.

Robin was a weird exception, was what Nancy was saying.

_ In fact, _ despite the fact that Robin had been all anyone could talk about for a good two weeks, the story hadn’t even been on Steve’s radar. At the best of times, Steve seemed to have trouble storing memories of underclassmen— a trait that arose most often (and most annoyingly) in regard to Nancy’s few non-Steve friends, whose names and faces he could never get straight. 

But Nancy remembered the Robin thing specifically. She’d been the one, after all, to spot 

Samantha McKee at Tina’s party. Later, cross-referencing her memories with Jonathan, Nancy would learn Samantha had been dressed as some goth singer that even Jonathan hadn’t known. But at the time, the get-up had seemed par for the goth course. Like sharks smelling blood, Nicole and Carol had descended as soon as Nancy said Sam’s name. They were happy to spread the latest gossip: Samantha was cutting herself and drinking her own blood, she was drawing pentagrams all over her notes, she’d joined a coven and they were planning on sacrificing Robin to the altar of their Satanic god. 

Nancy had pointed out that Satan was not a god, but a fallen angel. Carol had snorted, Nicole popped her bubble gum with almost impressive disdain. And Steve had said, “Wait, who are you guys talking about?”

It was one of the last things she remembered from that night, actually. Those horrible catty girls, the din of ear-splitting dance-pop, the antiseptic bite of the punch, and her boyfriend, who thought he was so  _ cool _ , so  _ fun _ , so much  _ better _ than all the idiots around them. 

Jonathan gave her a quizzical look. Nancy took a breath, untensing muscles she hadn’t realized she’d been holding stiff. Back in the moment. Not tomorrow, not yesterday, not a year ago. Just the boy in front of her with a bad haircut that’d be unfortunate on anyone else but was adorable on him because she loved him. God, she loved him so much it ached.

Nancy tried to muster up a pleasant face.

What did a supportive girlfriend who wasn’t at all freaked out about her boyfriend leaving the state look like? What combination of small talk and smiles said, I’m only the right amount of worried about this, I’m not afraid of going back to school without you, I’m a mature young woman who understands high school relationships don’t usually work out?

Jonathan didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded.

She took another breath. No more thinking. Too much thinking, that was always her problem. Nancy went back to observing. 

On closer inspection, Lucas’ pontificating was going completely ignored by his girlfriend. Or, at least, Nancy  _ thought _ Max was still his girlfriend. With the two of them, it was hard to tell. Either way, Max was much more interested in what El was doing. Which seemed to be… studying macrame instructions in some old craft book of Joyce’s? And holding onto Mike, of course. Even engrossed in completely different activities, the two of them still had their pinky fingers linked. Looking over instructions to a craft she had none of the materials didn’t seem too weird for El; Nancy imagined she’d never seen anything like it before. But why was Max so interested in whispering into El’s ear…?

Nancy looked back at Jonathan. He and Joyce sat in front of their open hutch, ensconced in a pile of family photo albums. Though they’d intended to clean the hutch out, with wine and time they’d settled into a warm tableau; a single mother and her dutiful eldest son, pouring over memories of the good life they’d worked so hard to make for the baby of the family.

“Oh, he was so little. I loved those corduroys, such a sweet gift from your Nana Horowitz. But Will, you were so tired looking! What did you have to be so tired about at five?”

“Was that ‘77? It might’ve been— ”

“After he got his tonsils out, you’re right! Oh, poor thing. Will, honey, do you remember that?”

“That’s when you got the watercolors,” Jonathan reminded him.

Will didn’t respond, too caught up in the game. He was even stroking his beardless chin. (Nancy held back a giggle.) Give him a cigar, and he could’ve been a general, deciding if he should pull his troops or let ‘em tough it out.

“But he said he wanted  _ real _ paint like Miss Kelly had!”

“And he cried until— ”

Jonathan stopped short.   
Nancy raised an eyebrow. The line of Jonathan’s jaw tightened, and she understood. 

_ Lonnie _ . A tossed off insult, raised voices. Maybe something worse. 

But maybe not. Lonnie couldn't have been bad all the time. 

Right?

Maybe he’d had comforted his youngest son. Or made some sort of joke to diffuse the tension. Maybe it was only in the years that followed that the memory had soured. 

Or maybe, despite everything, Nancy was still hopelessly naïve. 

“I was  _ five, _ ” Will said, with the easy snark of a teenager. If he was bothered by what had gone unsaid, it didn't show. “I didn’t know the difference between watercolors and acrylics.”

The corners of Jonathan’s mouth twitched. “You just wanted to finger paint.”

Joyce clasped her hands together, joyfully launching into an ode to Will’s sophisticated early work.

Max snorted at this, but didn’t make a comment. Nancy wasn’t completely clued into the dynamics of the kids’ group, but she gathered that Max didn’t know Will well enough to tease him as mercilessly as she might otherwise. Will seemed to hold the girls at a distance, even El. Even since she’d been living at the Byers’ house. Jonathan had worried about this, because he worried about everything. Would it be better for El to live with the Wheeler’s? The Sinclair’s? It would be a bit much for Mrs. Henderson to take on another mouth on a single salary, and Max had that awful stepdad… 

Despite all his hand-wringing, there was never really a question. It had to be the Byers. Too many questions, too many secrets. Though, not for the first time Nancy resented that others found it so easy to rope in new recruits. Steve had been an accident, but Max? Robin? Little Erica Sinclair? Why could a ten-year-old be trusted more than, say, she and Mike’s mother?

But Mike wouldn’t dare. Not knowing how easily their father had capitulated to the government the last time. Even if they could trust their mom… 

Nancy reached for the scab again, finger poised to pick.

Jonathan put his hand over her own in a gentle rebuke. He’d been there when mosquitoes had used her for target practice. And when she’d bloodied his sheets because she couldn’t resist scratching when she was half asleep the next morning. And the first time she’d ripped the scab open.

Nancy flattened her palm, ran it up to her knee, to her thigh. Jonathan’s hand followed. She sighed.

Even though her parents’ marriage was terrible, Nancy knew Karen couldn’t keep a secret of Eleven’s magnitude. Or, she wouldn’t. Because— defying all logic— her mother was still trying. And a part of Nancy respected that. She was defying some logic herself.

“Joyce told me,” her mother had said— God, had it already been a month ago?— as the two of them cleaned the kitchen. “About moving, that is.”

Nancy had nodded stiffly, scrubbing harder at cheese that had seemingly fused to the plate.

“That’ll be tough for the boys,” she continued, wiping down the counters. “Senior year for Jonathan. And Will’s always been such a shy boy, without your brother, I mean… ”

Karen didn’t have to say it. Sure, the boys were a unit now. But it’d been Mike who befriended Lucas from down the street. Mike who took Dustin, the new kid, under his wing. Will had been part of the Mike Wheeler friendship package since kindergarten. And since the Upside Down, since everything, it’d been hard for even the most social of them to maintain friendships outside of the monster-hunting bubble. 

Just look at Steve. Sure, he’d dumped Tommy H and Carol and the rest of the popular cabal, but that wasn’t unusual in itself. What was weird was that no one had replaced them. Steve collected friends like other kids collected baseball cards. Whether it was purposeful or not, Nancy could never tell. But when the two of them were dating, it seemed like a day couldn’t pass without some random guy flagging Steve down— in the hallways, at the movies, in the freaking grocery store. Old friends. Best friends, from the sound of it.  _ Cool guy,  _ Steve would always say.  _ Drifted apart, you know? _

Nancy was very familiar with drifting apart. It didn’t escape her notice that this was the first year since the second grade she hadn’t received an invitation to Ally Polaski’s birthday pool party. For a long time, it was just her and Steve. Now, it was her and Jonathan. 

Sure, they’d all tried to make an effort; Steve had eaten lunch with her and Jonathan more often than not last year. He’d gone to Jonathan’s end-of-year gallery for Photography 201. The three of them went to the lake for Senior Skip Day. But it was always the three of them. With Jonathan there, Steve was safely at a distance. With Nancy there, Steve and Jonathan didn’t have to try too hard to like each other. 

This year, Jonathan would be gone. Steve had graduated. Would Steve still want to hang out? He had Robin.

Without Jonathan, who did Nancy have?

Had she drifted so far that, now, she would be completely alone?

“Nance!” 

She blinked.

“Steve?”

“Top me off, see voo play?”

Robin exploded in a peel of giggles. “ _ S'il vous plaît!  _ God, your accent is atrocious.”

Jonathan rose an eyebrow.

Nancy snatched the glass from Steve’s hands. Was he really drunk from one glass of prosecco? She sniffed, and her jaw dropped.

“You were drinking the  _ cider _ ?” It seemed impossible; there had definitely been more than three glasses poured from that bottle. 

Her eyes narrowed.

“Of course, Nancypants! No booze ’til ‘88 for Stevie. Just ask the Mothers of Drunk Drivers.”

“ _ Nancypants! _ ” Robin squealed, rocking so far back she almost knocked El’s drink over.

El and Max paled.

Ah. 

Nancy shook her head, looking at the girls meaningfully. She wasn’t going to tell, but they didn’t need to know that. Actually, she was more amused that they hadn’t bothered to share with the boys.

“Against,” Jonathan corrected, “They’re not the mothers  _ of _ the drunk drivers.”

“That we  _ know _ of!” Steve exclaimed, pointing a finger in Jonathan’s face.

Nancy cringed. Steve wasn’t her responsibility, but when he and Jonathan interacted she was always on edge, trying to diffuse any hint of conflict. It wasn’t  _ that _ long ago Jonathan had embedded Steve’s face into concrete. Although, of course, Jonathan had been provoked. But, still… Nancy knew Steve’s sense of humor often veered into provocation. 

But, to her surprise, Jonathan wasn’t glowering. Not scowling. Not even looking vaguely disapproving.

Instead, he was taking Steve’s arm.

“Let’s go outside, ‘kay, bud?”

Jonathan punctuated that remark with a stern look in Will’s direction. Immediately, Will stood from his game, and went to their mother. 

“Did you see the one of me and Mike in there?” Will asked, delighting his mother and sending her into a frenzy flipping through albums.

“My buddy!” Steve punched Jonathan’s arm amiably. Again, Nancy cringed. “You and me, Jonny, we’re cool. Cool as cuc-cu— ”

He was laughing too hard to finish the sentence.

“Cucumbers,” Robin supplied. Nancy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Robin wasn’t as drunk as—

“You ever put cucumbers on your eyes, Nancy? You know, like a girl in a magazine?”

“I— ?”

“Cuz that’s what you look like! One of those girls in, you know, like, Seventeen and they write in and they’re like, my boyfriend Brad never takes me out, what should I do, et cetera et cetera? And like, they always look like models but they’re supposed to be these girls next door which is all kinds of bogus?”

Nancy opened her mouth to interject, but Robin, apparently, was not done.

“You know, back when my mom was a kid, they never had actresses or models on the covers of those magazines? It was all like, she’s a reeeaaaaal girl! Like, what, models aren’t real girls!? I mean, I guess they’re not, not on those covers with all the photo editing but like, still! My mom has like ten thousand of those, and they’re all, like, full of dress patterns and ads for sanitary belts. Which I guess makes sense, ‘cause she gave me them when I got my period. Like it was this biiiiiiig favor: ooh, welcome to womanhood, here’s how to sew a poodle skirt! You know?”

Nancy did not know. But before Robin could start up again, she had her by the wrist and dragged her outside.

“Field trip!” Robin cried. “Thanks for the cider, Mrs. B!”

Joyce waved, looking unconcerned, and Nancy couldn’t tell if Will was successfully distracting her, or if Joyce really was that cool.

Out in the driveway, Steve and Jonathan were perched on the hood of the car, trading drags from a cigarette. A weird rush of déjà vu ran up Nancy’s spine, making her shiver. How many times had she and Jonathan sat on the hood just like that, pretending they could be just friends? She shook it off.

“I brought your co-conspirator.”

An easy smile spread across Jonathan’s face.

“Nance.” He pulled her in, so she was standing between his legs. He kissed the crown of her head.

She squirmed, pleased but embarrassed. “Jonathan!” 

He responded by lacing his arms around her waist. 

Nancy attempted seriousness, but her heart was racing. PDA was not Jonathan’s style. Not when he was sober, at least. But they’d only had one stupid glass of— 

“That’s not a cigarette.”

“Ding ding ding!” Steve fell on his back laughing, likely getting rust all over himself in the process. “Uh, oh, Jon. I’d hate to be you right now.”

Nancy shot Steve a stern look before focusing back on her boyfriend.

“Your mom is right inside,” she hissed, chest feeling heavy. Nancy the buzzkill, once again.

Jonathan seemed to consider this. Robin fell to the ground. She looked peaceful enough, though, brushing her palms over the grass.

“ _ Jonathan. _ ”

“Someone’s in trouuuuuble!”

Jonathan and Nancy spoke in union: “Shut up, Steve.”

Steve just snorted, and slid off the car. “Domestic dispute, sort it out amongst yourselves.”

Jonathan ran a knuckle along her arm, giving her goosebumps.

“Your mom… ”

He smirked. “She wouldn’t have much of a leg to stand on.”

Nancy blinked. “She doesn’t— ”

“Please, with the amount of Dead tapes that woman has, you’re surprised?”

“I guess I am.” She shook her head. “Your mom seems so…  _ normal _ .”

Jonathan giggled, burying his face in her neck. 

“So cute.”

Nancy grinned, despite herself. “What is?”

“You. Obviously,” he murmured into her ear.

Shivers shot down her spine again. This time, for a nicer reason.

“You’re high.”

Jonathan snorted, pulling away and looking at her seriously. “I took one hit off of his joint, Nance. And look at him. There isn’t a dealer in town who wouldn’t give  _ Steve Harrington _ at least, like, half oregano.”

Nancy must’ve looked surprised, because Jonathan laughed for real this time.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she tried to scold, though it was hard not to smile with Jonathan’s fingers drawing patterns on her back. 

“I’m not,” Jonathan swore. “You just… ”

“Just what?”

He muttered something inaudible.

“What?”

“You’re going to be okay,” he said, simply. As if saying it would make it so.

Nancy worried her lip. Her ankle itched. “And you?”

“Me?” Jonathan looked genuinely surprised. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m way out of my league here.”

“You’re not kidding,” Robin interjected. Apparently the grass had lost its appeal.

Nancy scowled at her. Someone clapped her on the back.

“ _ Steve,”  _ she warned.

“Hey, Robin’s not wrong.” He hopped back onto the hood. “Just means you and Byers are rock solid. Like he’s going to let  _ you _ get away?”

Nancy flushed. “That is  _ so _ not— ”

“And we’ll still be here, Nance.”

“Wha— I mean… ” Nancy shook her head. “We?”

“Sure! What period do you have lunch?”

“Uh… ”

Jonathan nodded.

“Fifth?” Nancy answered, not sure why there was still a question in her tone.

“Same!” Robin collapsed back onto the ground, laying out like she was making snow angels. “See, we’ve got you.”

“But not,” Steve jumped in, “Like,  _ got _ got you. Because I’m looking forward to getting  _ very _ familiar with the female clientele of the video store.”

“ _ If _ we get the job.”

Steve waved this away. 

“And also because she dumped you for Jonathan.”

“That’s not what— ”

“It is, like, a little bit though,” Robin said. “Right?”

Nancy found herself choking on an adequate defense. Jonathan leaned back on the hood, looking not entirely displeased by the topic at hand. Steve shrugged.

“I’d dump me for Jonathan. He’s much better at rolling joints, for one.”

And at that, Nancy had to laugh. 

“C’mere.” Jonathan gestured for her to climb into his lap. 

“Is all the draaaaama done?” Robin asked, popping up clambering onto the roof. She swung her feet onto Steve’s shoulders. “You think we could walk like this?”

Nancy dug her nails into Jonathan’s thigh.

“Steve, put on some music,” Jonathan suggested, distracting the two of them from attempting any neck-breaking stunts.

“Okay, Jonny-boy, but it’s not going to be your whiny goth pop.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Jonathan muttered, mostly into Nancy’s scalp. He kissed her there and left his lips buried in her hair. She could hear him breathing so clearly. Soon, they were breathing in sync.

In. Out. 

The last time she’d seen the stars over the Byers house. 

In. Out. 

The last time she’d sleep here. 

In. Out.

The last time Jonathan’s arms would be around her.

She inhaled sharply, and Jonathan leaned back so he could look at her.

“Okay?” 

“I will be.”

The radio blared to life, blasting Supertramp. Steve retched, but Jonathan and Robin petitioned him to keep it on.

Nancy just listened to the music and let herself relax into her boyfriend’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Title via Supertramp's Goodbye Stranger!   
> Season 3 fic baybeeeeee! It's here!! (And now I finally get to read some bc I've been putting it off until I write my own.)  
> <33333333 missed you all!


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